


Eye of the Tiger

by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror



Series: Disaster Management [4]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Episode: s03e03 Prey, Human Disaster Endeavour Morse, Hurt Endeavour Morse, I Don't Even Know, Protective Fred Thursday, alternative ending, if it happened like this it'd take an hour off the ep, like seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror/pseuds/Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror
Summary: To say Morse was pissed off to be sent to look for a birdwatcher lost on his jollies was the understatement of the century. If only he knew what was waiting for him.
Series: Disaster Management [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757095
Comments: 38
Kudos: 85





	1. Hear me roar

**Author's Note:**

> i literally wrote this in an hour after rewatching prey (so sorry if it hardly makes sense) - there's quite a few fics with alternative endings to this ep but i got like 30 mins in and I felt so annoyed for Morse to be treated like a spare part I thought maybe I'd use the angst and make the situation worse xxxx

Morse was fed up.

No, Morse was frustrated.

How was it that he had become the bottom of the food chain again? Taking orders from not only Thursday but now Strange too? How was it that he’d become the ‘spare man’? Morse shook his head, trudging through the woods.

It was hard to respect Strange sometimes, it was easier working under Jakes. It wasn’t because the man had always been his immediate superior so had no reason to question him (well, most of the time) but he never handed off all of the shit jobs to him. It felt like he was just throwing everything he couldn’t be bothered to do at him, like he was better than him and Morse was just a spare part. He was sick of being underappreciated.

Morse snapped out of it, hearing a branch break in the distance, likely some animal living in the woods.

He knew he was being ridiculous. Him and Strange were friends and it was technically his role now to divide the jobs out in the department, but it didn’t mean he liked it. He wondered if he should transfer. Taking orders from people he should be above was infuriating at the best of times, but he doubted he could leave Oxford, leave Thursday. He’d often mentioned retiring though and Morse wondered if he would take that change to leave too.

He carried on trudging through the woods, appreciating the peace and quiet. Even if he felt stupidly overqualified for the task at hand, he was welcoming the tranquillity of the forest ahead until he saw a small shoe by a fallen tree in front of him, bringing him back to reality.

He crouched beside the white shoe, holding out a hand to the fallen tree trunk to steady himself.

“Its not mine.” A soft voice startled him from behind.

He turned quickly to face the owner of the voice, finding a girl he recognised from Crevecouer estate.

“If you were planning on sending throughout the kingdom to know who’s glove the shoe will fit.” She stopped and looked to her hands nervously.

“I saw you up at the house yesterday.” The girl stated, looking back to Morse who had got back to his feet.

“Yes.”

“You’re the police.”

Morse nodded, “Well I’m one of them.”

She smiled before holding out a hand. “Julia. Mortmaigne.”

Morse looked at her hand uneasily and quickly shook it. “Morse.” He said with a tightened jaw and a half smile.

“My brother said something about a missing girl, is that what you’re doing here?”

He dug his hands into his trouser pockets, awkwardly smiling away, he wasn’t able to answer her question even if he wanted to.

She glanced down to the shoe he was studying before she’d interrupted. “Hers?”

“Possibly.”

Julia looked up to him sympathetically, almost at loss at what to say. “Well good luck. I hope you find her, and that she’s alright.”

Morse just nodded, hoping she’d let him alone.

She clearly got the gist, smiling and carrying on her walk. Morse couldn’t help but wonder why she was out there.

Morse continued walking through the forest, aware of the cracking of branches around him. A few times he’d looked to the bushes but saw nothing.

Further into the woods he could hear the faint sound of music. Frowning, he followed the crackly sound, aware of the unsettling feeling of being watched.

It took him a while to find the source of the music, in the woods the sound seemed to echo in so many directions it was difficult to know where it was really coming from.

He eventually caught a glimpse of a dull orange tent in the distance accompanied by a radio which hung from a tree branch.

Cautiously Morse reached the radio and silenced it.

He looked around but couldn’t see anyone. He wondered if the man had just gone for a call of nature but it felt more perilous than that.

The surroundings were now painfully silent, like the calm before a storm.

All of a sudden, the thought of being alone in the woods unnerved him. it wasn’t a rational thought. Morse was a grown man and was perfectly capable of handling himself, plus it was still daylight.

He glanced around the objects scattered around the tent, books, binoculars, a thermos, all the usual things you’d expect for a birdwatcher. Nothing suspicious.

He then caught eyes on the closed tent door, frowning. Was the man asleep?

He crouched beside the zipper, carefully opening it. What he wasn’t expecting was to see out of the other side.

The other end of the tent was slashed open and blood splattered as if some wild animal had torn it free and dragged the poor bird watcher with him.

Morse was deep in thought before a twig snapping behind him snapped him back to his senses.

He quickly turned around to face whoever was creeping behind him, to find the very last thing he ever anticipated seeing in Oxford.

Two impossibly huge eyes were focused on him. strong legs tensed and ready to jump.

Morse forgot how to breathe for a second, afraid to move even an inch.

The tiger let out a panted breath, nostrils flaring, not taking its eyes off Morse.

Well, that certainly explained what happened to the bird watcher, Morse thought uselessly.

Morse was a man of intellect and common sense but being faced with a man-eating mammal was never something he’d ever contemplated, let alone how to get away from one unarmed.

Morse wondered if they’d ever find his body, or his bones at least.

He wondered if being mauled to death was quick. It certainly wouldn’t be painless, but he’d surely find out.

Morse continued staring unblinking at the tiger. He was going to have to run, cry out for help, do _something,_ he wasn’t just going to stand there and get mauled to death and eaten for dinner.

He debated shouting for Julia, but wouldn’t that put her in danger?

He darted a glance at the foldable chair. Was he really debating defending himself from a tiger with a chair?

He realised it was his only hope. If only he could reach over to it before the tiger…

It happened fast. He broke eye contact with the tiger, quickly diving to grab the chair out of the tiger’s reach as it pounced at him, claws first.

He quickly regained balance before the tiger jumped at him again, ripping the skin off the side of his arm as he curled in to protect himself.

Blood flowed freely from the grievous gashes, splattering the earth beneath him. The tiger recoiled. Now.

The tiger went to pounce again but Morse flung his body around, slamming the metal chair into its face with all the force he could manage, batting the creature away whilst screaming at it.

The tiger fell back, surprised by the retaliation. Morse swung out the chair again, but it backed away out of reach.

Something else caught its attention then, its head snapping in another direction before leaping away, out of sight. He just hoped it wasn’t going for Julia.

Morse breathed. How the hell had he gotten out of that almost unscathed?

He looked down to the chair he held in his shaking hand.

He couldn’t quite comprehend what his mind was showing him. He knew the tiger had caught him but it looked like it had ripped all the skin on his arm off. His entire right arm oozed crimson at an alarming rate, there was so much blood he could smell the iron.

He doubled over, retching out his breakfast. The fast movement made him tremble slightly, trying his hardest to keep his legs from buckling from under him. he’d never seen so much blood and the fact it was his made it all the more unbearable.

He finished dry heaving and tried to straightening himself. He needed to get out of there. Needed to get back to the Jag and to the nearest A&E. Maybe he should radio for an ambulance, it was unlikely he could drive in the state he was in and Thursday would kill him if he damaged the beloved Jag.

He stumbled his way through the woods, cautious of any noises. He knew if the tiger had a second thought and came back for him it’d be sure to finish him off.

But it didn’t. He didn’t see it again.

He found the edge of the wood, cradling his bloody arm with his left.

Morse was amazed he hadn’t passed out from blood loss.

Let’s not tempt fate, he reminded himself.

He fumbled the keys for his pocket, opening the drivers door and looking down to the phone.

Jesus fucking Christ what a mistake.

He should not have looked down. Shouldn’t have glanced a look at his chest.

How could he not _feel_ that? He knew adrenaline worked wonders on repressing pain but wasn’t that a – he bent over dry heaving again. There was no way in hell he was looking at one of his ribs.

He hadn’t even registered the tiger had caught him the second time around before he’d hit it with the chair.

It got very hard to breath after that, focusing on taking the phone with his uninjured arm and calling 999.

“999, what’s the emergency?”

“This is detective constable Morse… needing ur – urgent backup. S – send an ambulance.”

“Sir, can you tell me what’s happened?”

But he couldn’t. The pain had started to set in, blooming through the horrifying cuts on his chest and arm. He felt a wave of light headedness, almost making him fall face first into the steering wheel.

He looked down. Shit, why did he keep doing that? Blood was literally pooling in his lap from the wounds on his chest, staining the seat below him.

Morse made a low moaning sound, pushing himself out of the Jag and falling onto the side of the road, legs too weak to support his weight.

It was hard to breathe, each breath shot spikes of pain through his body, making him curl in on himself. He tried not to notice how wet his shirt was. He tried to pretend it was raining. That his shirt was just soaked with rain, nothing more. Nothing more.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d lay there before his breath started faltering. Maybe he hadn’t escaped the tiger after all.

It was a small mercy when unconsciousness claimed him.


	2. All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday gets a rather concerning call

Mr Hodges was hiding something that was for sure. Thursday didn’t trust his story further than he could spit.

He lit his pipe, taking a moment to himself, breathing in the comforting taste of tobacco.

He sat for a few minutes, simply watching the clouds of smoke rise up and diffuse into the air around him, contemplating all the ways he’d get the truth out of the slimy git.

The shrill of his phone broke the silence in his office.

He sighed before taking the receiver, wondering if he’d ever get a moments peace. “Thursday.”

“Inspector, do you know the location of DC Morse?” An unfamiliar female voice came from the phone.

“Morse? Why?”

“It’s urgent, please inspector.”

“He’s out by Wytham Woods, what’s going on?”

It sounded like the phone had gone dead, but he could here the woman shouting the address in the background.

“Sir, DC Morse in need of urgent backup, we’ve sent an ambulance now.”

“An ambulance? Has he found the birdwatcher?”

“I can’t say sir, all he said was he needed backup and an ambulance and then he left the radio off the hook.”

“Right, I’ll send a squad out now.”

Christ what had Morse gotten himself into now? There were only two plausible reasons he’d need an ambulance and not be able to give them his location. The first was he’d found Doctor Moxham and was in a critical condition requiring all of Morse’s attention or Morse himself was hurt and he prayed to god it wasn’t the latter.

“Strange with me, I need a team out to Wytham Wood, now!”

He was practically running to the car, he heard Strange offer to drive behind him but Strange’s driving was average at the best of times and Fred was intending to tear arse down the streets to Morse, sod the speed limits.

“Sir, what’s happening?” Strange asked once Thursday had keyed the ignition and begun the too fast drive to Wytham Woods.

“It’s Morse.”

Strange raised an eyebrow. “When’s it not?” he looked to Thursday’s unamused demeanour and quickly wiped the grimace off his face. “What’s he gotten himself into now?”

“I don’t know!” Thursday snapped, hunched over the steering wheel like he was willing the car to go faster. “I don’t know.” He muttered to himself, knuckles whitening.

And that was the worst of it. He had no idea what to expect. He just hoped Morse was standing there waiting for him where he can scold him for worrying him so much.

But he wasn’t waiting for him.

When they got to the woods all he could see was an ambulance with the back doors swung open and a group surrounding something – someone – on the floor.

He wasn’t sure if he’d even stopped the car before he practically dived out of it, almost falling over his feet as he ran to the paramedics. He knew before he even saw it was Morse.

And Jesus he wasn’t prepared for what his eyes were showing him.

One paramedic had Morse's arm raised whilst another wrapped layer after layer of gauze around it, turning red seconds after applying it, it was like the skin on his arm had been torn clean off.

Two more paramedics were applying pressure to wounds on his chest, their hands covered in blood. Morse’s blood. Thursday blinked. In all his years he’d never seen so much blood from one person and he’d fought in a world war.

Another paramedic was by his head, pressing their lips to his mouth. He blinked again. Why-?

Another was leaning over him, hands linked on top of the other, pushing onto Morse’s chest.

Morse wasn’t breathing. Morse was dead.

Someone was screaming. Shouting, crying.

He needed to get to him, just to pick him up and force him to be alright but strong hands held him back.

And then Thursday realised he was the owner of the broken shouts, fighting against Strange to get to Morse.

He had to get to him. “Get off me! Morse!”

“Sir-“ He struggled to keep hold of the older man, clamping onto his arms with his own. “Sir, calm down, they’re his best chance.”

Thursday shook his head incessantly. “Morse!”

He was dead. He wasn’t breathing. Morse was dead. “Morse!”

And then he wasn’t.

Thursday dropped to his knees, all fight leaving him.

Morse convulsed under the paramedic who quickly pulled her hands off his chest before the others lifted him onto a stretcher within seconds and got him in the back of the ambulance. 

And then they were gone, and Thursday was left alone with a horrific puddle of blood in front of him.

Backup chose then to pull up, finding Thursday hunched on his knees, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Morse was alive, they’d brought him back, but for how long? 

“Sir?”

Thursday shrugged off Strange’s hand on his shoulder, shakily getting to his feet. He wavered slightly, refusing to accept he was definitely in shock. He didn’t have time to be messing about.

He stumbled to the open drivers door of the Jag, seeing the radio hanging haphazardly from the stand, blood pooled on the seat, leaving a trail out of the car to where the medics had found him.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t get air into his lungs. Could hardly keep himself upright.

Fred was suddenly overwhelmed with nausea. Morse’s blood. Morse’s blood everywhere. And then he ran to the side of the woods, emptying his stomach. So much blood. Too much blood.

“Sir, do you want to go to the Radcliffe?” Strange asked hesitantly once Thursday had straightened himself, brushing his mouth with his sleeve.

Fred looked to Strange with dark eyes. He just nodded, slowly walking back to the car, this time for the passenger seat.

He sat watching Strange take charge of the scene, ordering officers into the woods on high alert to find out what on earth happened.

Had someone come at him with a knife? If that were the case Thursday was sure he’d kill whoever did it.

Morse was there because of him. Morse was right, this was a county job, but he’d sent Morse like some sort of spare part, unarmed and alone. Tears brimmed under his eyelids, blinking furiously to keep them there. He would not let Jim Strange see him cry.

They drove to the Radcliffe in silence. What could they say? Nice weather today, you have any plans tonight?

Strange’s colleague was on the brink of death and Thursday felt like he was about to find his son dead on a slab.

No. Sam was fine, it was Morse that wasn’t, but was there any difference?

He just focused on deep breaths.

Strange did speak some truth, Morse was in the best hands.

* * *

The nurse’s couldn’t tell them anything, just to take a seat and wait for a doctor.

And for hours, Thursday didn’t know if Morse was alive or dead.

Not until almost four hours later when an exhausted looking doctor came around the corner to the waiting room. “Are you here for Mr Morse?”

Thursday rose immediately from his seat. He intended to say yes and introduce himself, but he only managed a nod.

“I’m Doctor Cameron, I’ve been tending to Mr Morse. Please, take a seat.”

Thursday sat back down, not looking to Strange who was certainly watching him.

“I’m afraid to tell you Mr Morse’s condition is still very unstable. We’ve dressed all the wounds and will replace them regularly to reduce the threat of infection, but the blood loss was almost fatal. We lost him three times since he arrived here, I cannot stress how serious this is.”

Thursday looked at him like he’d taken a blade right through his heart. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting the doctor to say but it certainly wasn’t _this_.

“He’s currently undergoing a large blood transfusion to replace what he lost, we’ve kept him sedated to try and help the process and we’ve put 47 stitches into his right arm to help stop the bleeding and a further 28 across the two cuts on his chest. Only time will tell now, we’ve done everything we can for him.”

 _We’ve done everything we can_. If that didn’t sound like a death sentence, he didn’t know what did. There was nothing they could do for him now. it was on Morse, alone, to fight against death which had almost won too many times today.

“Can we see him?”

“I’m afraid not, the wounds are still open slightly, we’ve had to keep him in a sterilised room.”

Thursday nodded. He couldn’t argue, Morse dying from an infected wound after surviving the blood loss and god knows what else would be depressingly laughable.

“There’s a viewing screen looking into the room if you want, I’m sorry that’s the most I can offer.”

Thursday nodded. “I’d like to see him.”

Strange rose with Thursday but didn’t follow, deciding Thursday definitely needed to be alone and he needed to get back to the station to find out what they’d found in the woods.

Thursday followed the doctor up three flights of stairs and more corridors than he cared to count before he stopped outside a room. The blinds were open, giving full view into the room.

Inside a nurse stood in an apron, facemask, and gloves like she was handling someone with the plague, she was fiddling with the IV stand by the bed, one side with the fluid and the other a bag of blood, slowly pumping into Morse.

He looked to the lad, lying pale as a ghost in the too familiar hospital bed, sandwiched between sheets.

His right arm was completely wrapped out of view and he could only see the top of his chest, but he knew the bandages were there.

He was grateful for the bandages hiding the horror beneath. Thursday never wanted to see a human arm like that ever again.

There was a ventilator breathing for him and a monitor on his finger and even through the glass he could hear the muffled regular beep.

Morse was alive.

He found the doctor was still by his side, making him flush slightly, realising he’d been staring.

“He’s not out of the woods but he’s getting stronger by the hour. If he makes it through the night his chances of recovery are high.”

 _If he makes it through the night_ , what a morbid thing.

Thursday just nodded and thanked the doctor who took the cue to leave.

It hurt that he couldn’t hold Morse’s hand and order him to get better. All he could do was look through the damn pane of glass and watch as his chest rose and fell mechanically, and it hurt like deep and painful ache in his chest. He wanted to scoop him up and shout at him to be alright, but he couldn’t.

He could only watch as Morse fought to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay sorry this was meant to be two chapters but? I feel like it needs at least 3 since i think I've got as close to killing Morse as I can without finishing him off (sorry)  
> Let me know what you think! I might even do two chapters of fluff after this - I think we deserve it


	3. Getting There

Even though Fred couldn’t be with Morse he had absolutely no intention of leaving him, standing stoically outside the viewing screen for long enough that a nurse had brought him a chair.

He sat for a while, elbows resting on his knees, hands supporting his head as he watched Morse breathing steadily.

A doctor came regularly to check on the wounds and observe the nurse changing the dressings, making sure all 75 stitches were in place. Jesus fucking Christ. This could only happen to Morse, whatever this was.=

At 0200 Morse took a turn for the worse, flatlining for one minute and seventeen seconds. Thursday counted. It was the only thing he could do; it was that or storming in there, pushing the nurses aside and doing chest compressions himself.

It was surely the worst minute and seventeen seconds of Fred’s life. He was so sure that this was it, that the world had finally spared him nothing. But then he came back, sputtering back to life as he managed to breathe for himself again.

He called Win after that. He knew it was a ridiculous time of night to be calling but he was sure she’d be too worried to sleep since he hadn’t come home and he really, really needed to anchor himself onto something constant. Win was his constant, his anchor when all the world threw at him were stormy seas. He hoped she might have called the station where some unlucky PC would have briefly informed her of the day’s events where she’d have gone into a full blown panic and no, no Mrs Thursday, please don’t cry I’m sure DC Morse will be just fine.

The phone rang once before being hastily picked up at the other end as if Win had been sat on the stairs waiting for the call.

“Fred?” She whispered, not wanting to wake the kids.

“Yes pet, it’s me.”

“God, Fred I’ve been worried sick! How is he?”

Fred wanted to lie but he knew she’d see right through him. “…It’s not good, love.”

“Oh Fred, he’ll pull through, he’s strong.”

Thursday shook his head with a strangled sob. “He almost died… again. His heart stopped _again_. God, Win I can’t-“

He could hear Win repress a cry down the phone. “I coming now, I’ll leave a note for Joan and Sam.”

“No, Win, no point both of us losing sleep.”

“No way I was sleeping whilst our poor boys in hospital. I’ll be with you soon, Fred.”

How did she always know when he needed her?

He went back to Morse’s room to find he’d stabilised, and the nurse was changing his bandages yet again. He swore he’d watched so many times he could probably do it himself, and maybe one day he’d have to. Once he got out – not if – he was dragging the lad home by the scruff of his neck if he had to and put him on bed rest for half a year. Not that he’d need that much time, but Thursday did. Knowing Morse was safe for that long would add years to his life.

He leaned back into the seat, feeling like a slight inconvenience, sat in the corridor in the way of people walking by but there wasn’t another choice, it was that or leave and he certainly wasn’t doing that. So, he carried on watching Morse intently, taking comfort in the soft beeping of his heart.

Win arrived not half an hour later with a thermos and a jumper for Fred, who was eternally grateful. He hadn’t even realised how cold he was in just his suit jacket.

“Thanks pet.” He said softly, taking a cup of coffee from her.

“Though you’d need it.” She forced a smile, but it didn’t suit the concern painted over her face.

The nurse brought another chair a few moments later, Win thanking them in her forever appreciative way.

“What happened, Fred? The boy at the station wouldn’t tell me anything.” Win questioned as soon as she found a comfortable position in the chair.

“I don’t know, love. I sent him looking for a missing birdwatcher of all things and then an hour later I got a call from a paramedic... If I didn’t know better, it looked like an animal attack.” Fred said grimly, taking a gulp of the lukewarm coffee.

“An animal attack in Oxford? Surely not.”

“It was awful, Win.” He groaned, taking her hand, trying to forget the scenes that would no doubt crop up in his nightmares for months to come.

“There, there, Fred. It’ll be alright now, getting stronger by the hour the nice doctor said.”

“Yeah until he died again.” He muttered resentfully, almost annoyed at Morse for scaring him so much.

“But he didn’t, Fred. And you’ll gain nothing from thinking like that.”

“How were the kids?” He asked, rubbing his thumb gently over Wins hand.

“Anxious. I told them you were fine but knowing it was Morse didn’t make them worry any less.”

Thursday nodded, hoping they were having a more restful night than him and Win.

“I sent him out there, Win… I sent him out there alone and unarmed for a job that was below even County level.”

Win squeezed his hand. “Fred Thursday don’t you dare go blaming yourself. You just said it was a job for county, you had no idea it would end like this.”

“I should have, its Morse. It’s always more than it seems when he’s on a case.” Fred said in a lighter tone.

“He’s a good detective.”

“He is, better than me a lot of the time.” Fred said fondly, smiling.

She smiled, wishing she could hold the poor lads hand. “He’s going to be alright, Fred.”

* * *

At 9am they moved Morse to the intensive care ward now his stitches had healed over, significantly decreasing chances of infection along with the endless flow of antibiotics that were being pumped into him.

Fred and Win followed the doctor once Morse was settled in the new ward that smelt distinctly like disinfectant and soap, so much so it made the hair in his nose stand on edge. He wondered why the walls had to be so starkly white. Would it not hurt to have a bit of colour in somewhere already so bleak?

Morse was still shirtless under the sheets, freckled skin surrounding the fresh bandaging that wrapped over his shoulder and under his armpit, the rest covered from view. His arm wrapped from the shoulder down to the top of his wrist, no longer sporting his usual watch.

The doctor had updated them and astonishingly it was only good news, Morse’s stats were constantly improving, he was fighting off only minor infections that wouldn’t cause complications, he was getting better.

Morse had made it through the night, just about, and for the first time since seeing him bleeding out on the roadside, Fred genuinely believed Morse might just make it out of this one. He was able to sit next to him now, could brush his curls from his forehead, put a hand on his.

Feeling the warmth radiating from Morse’s hand settled the horrid feeling in his stomach. He was alive, transfusion complete, blood pressure normalising and heartbeat strengthening. Fred smiled down at the lad, counting his blessings as his chest rose and fell evenly.

“I’m afraid its unlikely he’ll wake for another day or two, he’s on a strong dose of morphine to cope with the pain.” Said the nurse, checking on the bandages once again.

Fred didn’t expect any different, but he didn’t mind. At this point he was simply grateful Morse was expected to wake up after everything that happened in the last 12 painful hours.

Win left shortly after that, promising she’d pop by with his sandwiches later on.

Fred picked up the paper from the small shop near the hospital foyer after a quick pipe in the hospital gardens, breathing in the fresh air like it was going out of fashion. The pipe was simply to calm his still shaking hands.

He was surprised to see Strange by Morse’s bed when he returned, the DS looking slightly at a loss of what to do with the unconscious man in front of him. “Sergeant.”

Strange looked up, relieved to escape his awkward encounter. “Sir.”

“You here to see Morse?”

“Ugh no, I came to see you actually, sir, update you on what we found in the woods.”

“And?”

“We found the birdwatchers camp, no luck finding the man himself but whatever got Morse looked like it got him too, his tent was slashed and there was a blood trail into the trees. DeBryn looked over it, confirmed it looks like an animal attack. Of the order carnivorous the doc said.”

“But you haven’t found whatever was responsible?”

“Only thing we found was one of Dr Lorenz’s embroidered handkerchiefs, we questioned him, but he denied any carryings on with Ingrid.”

Thursday nodded, eyes settling back on Morse.

“How is he?”

“Getting there, it was touch and go for a while.”

Strange nodded, thinking back to the record sat on his table at home he’d bought Morse only the other morning. “Glad to hear it. well, I best be off, things to do and all.”

“Of course, mind how you go.”

Thursday took his place by Morse’s bedside again and opened the paper, preparing himself for a long two days.

* * *

Win had popped by a few times every day, with sandwiches, changes of clothes, even a toothbrush as if he were having a weekend away. If only.

Even bright had visited, of course trying to hide his nail-biting concern as he stood watching over Morse, rigidly in place.

Thursday was reading the crossword clues out loud as if Morse could unconsciously solve them in his head when the lad began to stir.

“Morse?”

This time his hand definitely moved, face contorting into a pained frown.

“Morse?”

He groaned as if in response, but he wasn’t sure if that was just because he was coming more aware of his injuries.

“Come on, lad. Time to wake up.”

Morse’s eyes flickered open, unfocused, and hazy from the morphine.

“That’s it, Morse.” He said, finally making eye contact.

“S’r.”

“That’s right, can you tell me how you’re feeling? Are you in pain?”

“S’r, th- th- tg-“

What the hell was the lad trying to say to him? “Morse? You’re safe, you’re in hospital.”

Morse shook his head, eyebrows furrowing as if he was trying to put all his focus into speaking. “The- there’s a- a”

His voice was gravely, and Thursday looked round to see if there were any ice chips to soothe his throat before Morse weakly grabbed his hand.

He turned back to Morse who was staring widely at him through cloudy eyes. “S’r the… there’s t’ger.” Morse managed to slur out.

Fred’s breath hitched in his throat. Did he just hear that right? Was Morse just high from the morphine or did he just say-

“Th’re’s ... there’s a tiger!” He stuttered out, clear as day, before falling back into unconsciousness, the hand wrapped around Thursday’s going limp.

Thursday could only stare at the now still detective, mouth gaping. If it was anyone but Morse, he’d say they were away with the fairies, but the evidence was there, and Morse was rarely ever wrong.

Jesus fucking Christ, he needed to call Bright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just keep?? Adding chapters?? that literally no one asked for??   
> Im sorry I'm just rather enjoying writing this one even though I did intend for it to be like 3 chapters but the more the merrier, right?  
> prepare yourselves for the comfort to come and finally *finally* Im going to write a chapter where they take Morse home (about time, I know)


	4. In Your Eyes I See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I am SO sorry for how long this took me, I had such writers block and didnt want to throw out some half hearted finish to a work I was quite proud of so here is the HEFTY final chapter (which probably should have been 2 but I didnt know how or where to separate it lol) Enjoy <3

Morse ached. It was more than an ache. It felt like something was trying to tear him apart. Or trying to put him back together, he couldn’t distinguish between the two.

Sure, he’s had hangovers where every bone in his body felt ready to break and his limbs were as heavy as lead and he’d stayed in bed for hours trying to coax himself back to the land of the living. But this was worse. So much worse. The pain, albeit distant, was excruciating.

He wasn’t even sure if it was his pain he was feeling. It felt so far away, he was pretty sure he was floating. Surely it wasn’t him that hurt.

He couldn’t get himself to move, he wasn’t even sure if he could twitch a finger. Maybe he managed it because all of a sudden pain flared up his arm and the incessant beeping in the background increased to an annoying shrill. What the hell was that? His alarm? He hoped not, Thursday would kill him if he were late to work in the midst of a case.

“Morse?”

That was new.

Who was that? Was someone watching him? why couldn’t he open his eyes?

“Morse, you in there?”

Of course, he was in there, where else would he be? But maybe he wasn’t. where is there?

“Come on, Endeavour.”

God, that _name_.

That _voice_. He knew it. he could almost place it, name on the tip of his tongue but everything was so fuzzy, so unclear.

“Open your eyes for me Morse, come on lad. You can do it.”

Could he? It didn’t feel like it. his lids had never felt so heavy. And hell, who knew what was waiting for him when he woke. Had Thursday carried his drunk ass home? Even worse, to the Thursdays? No, he wasn’t sure what the hell was happening, but he certainly wasn’t prepared to deal with that.

“Please, Morse.” The broken voice came like a prayer.

Guilt.

Was it Morse’s fault the man was upset? Because now he felt like he owed it to the man to wake up for him.

He had to focus everything into opening his eyes. It shouldn’t have been that difficult, that exhausting.

“Morse.”

His eyelashes fluttered adapting to the bright light above him that temporarily blinded him.

“ _Morse_.” He felt a warm hand over his.

Thursday. He frowned. Why was Thursday looking at him like that?

He looked down to his hand, finding comfort in the older man’s warmth. Finding masses of bandages.

What the hell happened to his arm?

“Morse, do you know where you are?”

Good question. The man wasn’t an idiot. He knew he was in hospital; it was the only time Thursday looked at him like that. Like he was scared Morse would shatter, like he’d lose him.

“’pital” he managed, fighting against his raw throat, swallowing thickly.

“that’s right, Morse. That’s good.”

“Why m’here?”

“Do you not remember?”

Morse gave a slight shake of his head, annoyance rising at his jumbled memories.

“I’m not surprised. You gave yourself one hell of a fever.”

Morse gave him a confused look. How could that be his fault?

“you tore some of your stitches the first time you woke up, they didn’t realise until the infection had elevated your temperature. It was hit and miss for a while.” Thursday spoke sombrely.

Thursday didn’t have to say it out loud, Morse knew he fucked up. Thursday never sounded so defeated unless Morse did something completely stupid. It was times like this he missed the DCI angry. he could deal with anger, not disappointment. Disappointment was hard to come back from.

“m’sorry.” Morse rasped, trying to avoid Thursdays eye contact. He wanted to ask about the stitches he was referring to, but he didn’t want to bring more attention to his fuck up.

Thursday frowned, leaning forward slightly. “What? No, it’s not your fault, lad. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I sent you out on that stupid bloody milk run, knowing full well it shouldn’t have been you going. This is on me.”

Morse blinked. He wasn’t disappointed in Morse. He was disappointed in himself.

“when I got there… Jesus, Morse...”

He took in the slightly traumatised look masking Thursday’s face. Whatever had happened it was bad. Very bad.

“You called for an ambulance thank god.” Thursday swallowed, “that’s when I knew something was wrong… you don’t do hospitals, even after getting stabbed under the bloody Bodleian you refused to see a doctor.

“By the time I got to you…” Thursday shook his head and laughed darkly. “I’m telling you this once, so you better listen. I’m not a sentimental man, not one for brooding, but Morse I can’t lose you. So, if you could stop getting in these horrid situations, I’d be grateful. You’re giving me more grey hairs than Sam and Joan combined.”

Morse flashes a small smile. “I’ll try, sir.”

“They’re releasing you in two days if your recovery stays on track, which it better had.” He gave Morse a stern look. “In the meantime, I’ll pack up a bag of your things so you can stay with me and Win. Don’t even try to argue. You _stopped breathing_ Morse. Of all the shit you’ve put me through, this doesn’t even come close. So yes, you’re coming home with me, if not for your own recovery then for _me._ Because lord knows I need to know you’re still alive.”

He wanted to protest, argue that he’d be fine looking after himself, that he’s always been alright but the fearful look in Thursday’s eyes changed his mind. Fear wasn’t something Morse was used to seeing in Thursday, only ever exposed when his family are in harm’s way. He knew better than to challenge that look. “Okay.”

“Very good, now get some rest. I’ll be back in a few hours after I check in at the station.”

He nodded, settling back into the pillows moulded into his head shape. Sleep did seem pleasant.

* * *

He woke the next day with a start, the hazy nightmare pushing through to his reality. It wasn’t a dream. It happened. That happened. He was almost killed by a _tiger_. His eyes shot open, breath labouring.

Hands were on his shoulders the second he tried to sit up. “Hey calm down lad.”

“S-sir a tiger!” Morse practically screamed in his DCI’s face.

“Morse, calm down, breathe with me okay? In. out.” Thursday remained leaning over the younger man whilst his breathing returned to normal. “Well, its good to see your memories coming back.”

“Sir you have to stop it!” Morse insisted, watching Thursday slip back into his seat almost relaxed.

“We have.”

“W- what?”

“We found it in the Mortmaigne estate, Georgina had planned to set it on her brother, as a sort of payback for what happened to her as a girl but it broke free. We managed to sedate it and it’s currently being shipped back to Africa, safe and unscathed.”

“And for Georgina?”

“Charged with first degree manslaughter.”

“I think I’m gonna-“ Morse instantly hurled himself onto his good arm, retching into the kidney bowl that Thursday had somehow put under his chin in time.

Thursday sighed, rubbing Morse’s back as he brought up the contents of his stomach. He was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner; Morse never did have a strong stomach. “That’s it lad, get it all up, you’ll feel better for it.”

“Sorry.” Morse muttered, unable to wipe the sick from his mouth, his only good arm occupied by propping himself up.

“Stop apologising Morse, you’re doing just fine.” Thursday replied softly, helping Morse lie back down and handing him a handkerchief.

“I want to leave. I can’t – I can’t be here any longer.” And dammit he was almost crying. He hated hospitals. He hated how pathetic and useless he felt. He couldn’t relax, hardly had the space to breathe.

“It’s alright Morse, it’s alright. I’ll try speak to a nurse.”

Morse nodded numbly, watching Thursday leave to hunt down someone to talk to.

Initially he was grateful for the alone time. Every time Morse had woken Thursday had been there, it gave him chance to finally think. Of what though, he wasn’t sure. every time he tried to piece together the last few days all he remembered was pain and all – consuming terror. Maybe alone wasn’t what he needed after all.

Thankfully, Thursday wasn’t gone for too long, but his face didn’t suggest good news, settling into his usual spot next to Morse’s bed. “She said the best they can do is this evening; your recovery is apparently going slower than expected, you’ll have to come back every other day to get your bandages changed and stitches checked too.”

“Can’t I do it myself? I can change a few bandages.”

“Firstly Morse, you don’t have a medical qualification so no, and secondly, even if you did, I’d be surprised if you could even do up your flier by yourself, let alone change your bandages.”

Morse reddened. “What about DeBryn? He could do it?”

“Doctor DeBryn has enough on his plate without playing nurse with you, Morse.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to ask… I just really can’t be here, Sir. Please. The smell – the _feel_.”

Thursday looked like he was going to disagree, but then he glanced to the lads arm and back up to the scared look Morse now permanently wore and softened. “Alright, son. I’ll ask, but I’m not promising anything.” it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

* * *

To Fred’s surprise the contrary pathologist agreed to help after only a moments considerations. Apparently as long as there’s a lick of brandy for him when he visits, he was more than willing. ‘after dealing with the dead all day it’d do me some good to help the living.’

Win was clearly thrilled to hear the news that Morse was coming home so early. She instantly disappeared upstairs to sort the spare room and prepared a hearty shopping list which looked enough to feed a family of eight.

Morse was equally happy to be leaving hospital, not that he showed it in nearly the same way. He was waiting sat on the side of his bed, legs hanging loosely over the side when Thursday had come to get him, Jag waiting patiently in the car park.

“They suggested a wheelchair but I knew what you’d say.”

“That’s completely unnecessary, it’s my arm that’s scratched, not my legs.”

“Scratched? That’s putting it lightly.” Thursday huffed, but not wanting to elaborate. “Come on then.” He hooked his shoulder under Morse’s arm, helping him to his feet.

“That’s really not nec-“Morse was cut off when his knees almost buckled, leaning his weight onto Thursday.

“You were saying?”

“Sorry.”

Thursday shook his head, readjusting his weight to support Morse better. “Apologise one more time lad and I’ll put you back down.”

“So- Thanks.” Morse quickly corrected, smiling slightly as they walked slowly toward the entrance.

* * *

The drive back was uneventful enough, Thursday mostly rambled about how excited everyone was to see him, although Joan appeared to be more concerned than Sam. Sam apparently thinks he’s a hero for surviving a tiger attack.

And it was true, through the late evening dinner where Morse only managed a few mouthfuls of mashed potato, he was thrown question after question from the younger Thursdays, not that he minded too much, it was thinking about what happened when he was alone was the issue.

“How did you get away? Did you shoot at it? you have a knife?”

“Sam –“

“hit it with a chair.” Morse replied lightly, now able to almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

Sam burst out laughing, even Thursday let out a slight huff.

“Does this mean you’re invincible now? I mean, if a tiger can’t take you down, what can?”

Morse wasn’t quite sure how Sam was so amazed by it all. maybe it was because he didn’t see the amount of Morse’s blood that covered the forest like a red carpet, or the paramedics giving him CPR as his heart stopped beating. He knew he shouldn’t have but he read his medical file hanging at the end of the bed one night, but he had always been a curious man.

Even so, it was almost refreshing to think of it in a less morbid, way so he entertained it, if not for Joan and Wins sake too. Maybe if they gave the façade that it wasn’t too bad, that’s how he could remember it too.

“I guess we’ll see.” Morse replied smiling at Sam who was still staring in awe.

“Enough of that Sam, eat your dinner.”

“Well it’s good to see you almost back to normal.” Win chirped happily, placing a second portion of vegetables onto her plate. “Not hungry, dear?”

Morse’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, I ugh had something at the hospital before Mr Thursday came.”

He didn’t want to look at Thursday, he could feel the older man’s eyes burning into him as he saw through his lie.

“It’s Fred dear, I’m sure he gets enough of that at work!”

Morse simply smiled and nodded, looking back down to his almost full plate of food.

Is that what Morse looked like to the tiger? A plate of meat, and maybe some forrest shrubs for a side salad?

He forced the thought back down, saliva filling his mouth as he tried not to throw up again.

“Alright Morse?” Fred murmured quietly so the others didn’t notice, too busy eating.

He debated lying but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could be around so much food. “Just tired, might go to bed if that’s alright.”

“Of course, lad. I’ll help you up.” Thursday said, rising out of his seat.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs Thursday, it was delicious.” Morse forced out, concentrating on pushing himself out of the chair with one arm.

“Lad’s just tired, needs a good nights sleep.” Fred added, only supporting Morse by the elbow now, his mobility slowly coming back.

“Of course, sleep well Morse. if you need anything just give us a shout.” Win said with her usual smile.

The stairs were a slow process, one Fred hadn’t really considered until he was hovering behind Morse wondering what he’d do if the lads legs gave out and he fell onto his bad arm.

Luckily though, Morse managed it without too much fuss, only having to pause halfway to catch a breath.

“It’ll be easier tomorrow I’m sure.” Thursday reassured once he deposited Morse on the spare bed.

Morse nodded looking at the neatly organised room, noticing his own flannel pyjamas on the pillow.

“Thought you’d be needing them.” Thursday explained, “brought some of your books as well, I know you aren’t very good at twiddling your thumbs.”

“Thanks Sir.”

“Do you need help with anything?”

“I should be fine, thank you.” Morse brushed off before he had time to consider.

Thursday nodded. “Well, I’ll just be in the other room if you need me.”

Once the door was closed, he let the weighted breath he’d been holding since dinner out. He never really knew how to take help from people, how to thank them in an appropriate way. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was an ulterior motive behind people’s kindness, even ones as pure as Win’s. More learnt from an early age to not trust anyone but yourself, to rely on yourself. Letting people in was hard, but god he was trying, and he knew he should. The Thursdays were as close to family he’d had in too long and selfishly he didn’t want to lose that.

Slowly he kicked off his shoes that one of the nurses had put on before he left the hospital, another embarrassing moment he’d rather forget. As expected, the shirt and trousers were harder to undo but slipped off easily afterwards. He turned for his pyjamas when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

At first, he didn’t even recognise himself. He’d managed to lose more weight if that were even possible, hips more prominent than usual, yellow bruising covering the edges of the bandaging spanning half of his upper body.

He looked ill. There were heavy bags around his eyes, skin so pale it was almost opaque. How anyone had an appetite with him sitting at the table was beyond him. Even his normally vibrant auburn hair seemed dull. Morse stood staring for long enough he wanted to tear the bandages straight off his arm, see what ugly scars he’d been left with and scream at the world how unfair it was. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t make a nuisance of himself anymore than he has already.

Turning back to his pyjama bottoms he leaned over to put a foot through the leg before burning pain flared from the stitches in his chest making him abruptly push himself back up, fast enough to send a wave of vertigo over him. He quickly gripped the bed board for balance and forced himself to focus on breathing and not the radiating pain across his chest.

Slowly he lowered himself down to sit carefully on the bed. The pain began to migrate across his shoulder, trailing down his scarring arm. He needed more painkillers. The painkillers Win had put on the kitchen counter.

He could do it.

No, no he really couldn’t.

It felt like his flesh was burning and all he’d done was lean over. He needed to ask Thursday for help. He could, it was easy. He’d be there at the single call of his name, but, how could he? He wasn’t dressed, he wouldn’t want Thursday seeing him like this normally let alone looking like a corpse.

Breath becoming more laboured he tried to think of his options, wondering if he’d pass out from hyperventilating.

He didn’t realise he had called for Thursday, but the DC was in the room in seconds with that fearful look back in his eyes. “What’s wrong Morse? What do you need?” Thursday asked, kneeling down I front of Morse.

“Painkillers – please.” Morse managed to rasp out, free hand hovering over the bandages.

“Right. I’ll be right back.” Thursday stuttered out, hot footing it downstairs and back up quicker than he’d ever managed.

“There you are lad.” He said gently, placing the painkillers into Morse’s hand.

Morse threw the pills into his mouth, flushing them down with the water Thursday then handed him. “Thanks.”

“Did something happen?”

Morse shook his head, breathing beginning to even out. “Trying to put my damn trouser on.”

“I told you not to overexert yourself, Morse.”

Morse shrugged, looking down to the pyjamas that caused him such a problem.

“Come on, let me help.” And as if the situation weren’t awful enough, Thursday started manoeuvring his shaking feet in the trouser legs, taking them up sit on his waist.

But Thursday did it in such a way he didn’t feel embarrassed, like a routine job he didn’t even bat an eye to. It’s was odd to feel as if he wasn’t a burden.

“I’ll get you a button up top if you like, much easier than putting a T-shirt on.” Thursday said, picking through clothes neatly folded in a drawer.

“It’s fine sir, you really don-“

“No arguments, Morse. My house, my rules.”

He finished dressing Morse in silence, not allowing his eyes to linger on bruising etching out of the bandages. “There. How’s the pain?”

“Fine, Sir, really.”

Thursday took a seat next to Morse on the single bed with a knowing look. “You can be honest, Morse. Any idiot can see it’s not fine.”

Morse looked to his hands piled on his lap. “It’s not great.” He admitted quietly.

Thursday nodded, looking to Morse. “You know you can talk to me lad, about anything... I’m here for you, so is Win. You can count on us, son.”

Morse looked up, finding Thursdays eyes, and smiled gratefully. “I know.”

And Thursday smiled like that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're done? Yes? Yes. unless I have a mind wave and randomly add a fluffy epilogue. Thank you everyone thats read and left kudos and comments, it means a lot and I love u all <3

**Author's Note:**

> if you've started to many fics clap your hands  
> *claps*  
> I have been intending on writing this fic for a while now even though it would make it a very short episode I couldn't resist  
> Let me know what you think! Fluff to come I swear


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